You’ve just arrived at work after a long journey which included the consumption of a large coffeee, a bran muffin and a gallon of mineral water. You’re in dire need of toilet relief, so you head to the Gents to do your business in double quick time.

This is awkard. You leave your desk, you walk to the lift, you push the button and then some time later the lift arrives. You get in and just as the doors begin to shut, that wanker from the desk opposite joins you in this tiny, confined space.

I have my friends quota. I don’t need any more friends. I don’t have time to see the friends I have as much as I would like so I am certainly not in the business of talking to strangers on a fucking train.

I was recently on a train platform. I was waiting for a train. I consulted the train timetable, which informed me the next train would arrive in two minutes. I consulted my watch. It was 2:58pm. The train arrived at 3:04pm. DEAR LONDON UNDERGROUND – THAT IS NOT TWO FUCKING MINUTES. WE KNOW HOW MANY SECONDS THERE ARE IN A MINUTE, YOU CAN’T FOOL US, SO STOP LYING AND TELL US THE TRUTH ABOUT HOW LONG WE’LL BE STOOD UNDERGROUND ON A PLATFORM SURROUNDED IN FILTH, MICE AND WEIRD INDIAN MEN SINGING WONDERWALL LOUDLY TO HIMSELF.

I think that last bit only happened to me. But the rest is a regular occurence.

Why do people lean over and read your paper, when it is one of about 10,000 free papers? Why didn’t they pick one up at the train station? Or take the discarded one on that empty seat? Why do they insist on leaning over and reading your paper? AVERT YOUR EYES YOU WANKER.

I have lost count of the number of times I have been on public transport and sat next to someone whose breathing is so heavy it actually disturbs my reading. Sometimes it even manages to drown out my iPod, which is quite an accomplishment.

I think I’m a hypochondriac. Most of the time I think I am dying. If I lose weight, I think I’m dying. If I put on weight I’m going to have a heart attack. If I get a spot, it’s a tumour. I’m not far away from being one of those people who wear the equivalent of a gas mask on their daily commute for fear of catching some killer bug. And the thing that could finally push me into this course of action is those people on public transport who cough WITHOUT USING THEIR HANDS.

Are these people on day release? Have they never seen a fucking ticket barrier before? Do they need lessons in general everyday tasks? Do they need help washing? Can they not even tie their shoelaces? Yeah you’ve seen them. They’re always the people right in front of you. You follow them up the escalator from the underground station, you’re right behind them as they approach the ticket barrier, they fish out their Oyster Card from their pocket, they hover it above the Oyster Card reader, and then they fucking slap the shit out of it like their hand has suddenly developed an extreme case of Parkinson’s.